


Connections

by StarBurnedOut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action, F/M, Post-Season/Series 05, Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarBurnedOut/pseuds/StarBurnedOut
Summary: With Scott already dealing with issues in his personal life and trying to figure out an evolving relationship with Malia, things are further complicated by the sudden arrival of a new threat in Beacon Hills, one the pack has never encountered before.
Relationships: Scott McCall/Malia Tate
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> New story. Nothing too complicated about it. I wanted to do something based on three elements: a Scott/Malia friendship-to-romance, their relationships with their parents, and vampires. This is that. Hope you enjoy it.

**01**

Eyes closed, Scott leaned his head back against the wall behind him and let out a weary sigh. The adrenaline he’d been running on for the last couple hours was finally bleeding out of his system, leaving him lethargic, his limbs heavy, muscles stiff. Some of the pain he’d been too distracted to notice was emerging, radiating out from a dozen cuts, scrapes, and bruises, and all he wanted to do was rest, let his healing kick in and take care of it.

The world seemed to go fuzzy around him as the fatigue set in, sounds, smells, and sensations fading into the background. He could still feel the rough asphalt beneath him, the brick against his back, the pain in his shoulder and cheek, the worst of his injuries. He could hear the people further down the alley, Malia, Argent, Sheriff Stilinksi, Parrish, all talking amongst themselves as they loaded their unconscious captive into the back of a cruiser. He could smell the blood, the sweat, and a million other scents lingering in the air, tell-tale remnants of a hard-fought battle. But it was all muted, all slightly out of focus, more like a memory than something he was actively experiencing.

Sitting on the cold ground, in a dark alley, surrounded by garbage and dirt wasn’t the most comfortable position, but in the moment, he couldn’t care less. After a long day, and an even longer night, he was ready to rest, and dangerously close to passing out right there. Just for a little while.

Unfortunately, the world wasn’t ready to leave him alone yet.

Before he could slip off, the insistent buzzing of his phone drew him back to reality. Another sigh escaped him as he reluctantly opened his eyes, hand already sliding the nuisance out of his pocket.

As soon as he checked the display and saw it was his mom calling, he grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her. He’d just rather not talk to her right now, when he was feeling like he’d been run over by a car. There was no way he sounded normal, not with how he felt, and there was no chance she wouldn’t pick up on it. Not now, not with how things had changed.

Ever since everything with Theo, with the Dread Doctors, with the Beast, he’d seen her concern for him skyrocket. She tried to hide it, but he could see it in the way she looked at him every time he came home bloody and bruised. There was real fear in her eyes now, much more than there used to be, fear that sooner or later he wouldn’t make it back. He could see how it affected her, how hard she had to work to bite her tongue, not completely lose it, to not try to keep him close, keep him safe. Each time it was a little worse, a little more obvious. She was a little closer to cracking.

Not that he could blame her. She’d seen him dead. They hadn’t really talked about it, but he knew how devastating it had been, regardless of her faith in him, in his strength, her belief he would come back. Even as a nurse, as someone who experienced more death than most, had witnessed him on the brink more than once, actually seeing him lying there, gone, had shaken her to her core. Nearly six months later, she still wasn’t close to over it, probably never really would be. And there wasn’t anything he could do about it. 

She worried about him, and he worried about her in turn, about the stress he was causing her. It was the last thing he wanted, but with his life, the dangers he faced, it was unavoidable. All he could do to try and mitigate it was keep the bulk of his injuries to himself, especially the minor stuff, like tonight. He was tired and sore, bloody and rundown, but he knew he’d be fine. No lasting injuries, nothing a good night’s rest wouldn’t cure. It was nothing to worry about, nothing at all.

He just wasn’t sure she was capable of seeing it that way anymore.

With that in mind, he sent her a quick text saying he was busy, that he’d see her later, and let his phone drop to the ground between his legs. He didn’t feel good about dodging her, knew a call meant she wanted to talk to him, but he just didn’t have the energy to try and conceal his pain, his exhaustion from her right now. It was better this way.

“You all right?”

Lifting his head, he found Malia standing there, looking down at him. Her brow was furrowed as she carefully checked him over, concern in her eyes, which didn’t come as any sort of surprise. He could feel the dried blood decorating his face, didn’t need a mirror to know he probably looked like a victim from a slasher movie. On the positive side, he was more than a little gratified to see she’d fared better than he had despite being just as involved in the night’s struggle as he’d been. There were no major bloodstains marking her skin or clothes, no ugly wounds like the one he could feel in his shoulder.

At least one of them had come out relatively unscathed.

“I’m good,” he said, not even attempting to suppress the slight waver in his voice. If there was anybody who understood his situation, knew what it was like to be hurt but also fully aware good health was just a few hours away, it was her. “Mostly just tired.” He shot her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Long day. Long night.”

She huffed out an amused breath. “Yeah, it was.” For a second, her smile mirrored his, before faltering slightly as she nodded at his discarded phone. “Your mom?”

He’d confided in her about that particular issue a few weeks back, tired of keeping it to himself. He figured she’d understand what he was doing, his reasons for doing it, since her dad was still completely in the dark about what she was, what they did, their whole world. But to his surprise, she’d flat-out told him to just be honest, regardless of whether things were serious or not. Lying, good intentioned or otherwise, just led to resentment, to more trouble down the road. Better for everyone to be as truthful as possible. Especially since he could, his mom’s awareness of the supernatural making the truth an option for him. He’d gotten the sense from her tone and the look on her face she wasn’t looking forward to the day her dad finally found out everything she’d been hiding, and what it could mean for that relationship.

“Yeah.” He shrugged sheepishly, trying to ignore the disappointed look on her face. It made him uncomfortable seeing it, knowing he was the one who put it there. “I just—I don’t want to worry her. Not about this.”

“Scott...”

“I know, I know.” Letting out a groan, he ran his hand over his face, rubbed at his eyes. The last thing he needed was more guilt to pile on top of everything else. “I just can’t right now, Malia, okay? Give me some time and I’ll call her back. I just need a little time.”

When he looked back at her, her lips were set in a straight line, tight, disapproving. Her eyes were softer though, the disappointment there overshadowed now by sympathy, by understanding.

“Okay,” she said softly. Then she stuck out a hand. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Grabbing his phone, he took a deep breath to steady himself, then reached for her extended hand with his good arm and let her pull him to his feet. His muscles protested the movement, but he ignored the aches and slowly stretched, taking proper stock of his injuries now that he was up and mobile again. His right shoulder was sore and stiff, and the jagged gash down his left cheek was throbbing painfully, but he could already feel the slight burning everywhere else that told him he was starting to heal, torn flesh slowly knitting back together. It was an irritating sensation, uncomfortable, but also familiar, something he’d grown to accept as a good thing over time.

Once he was sure everything was in working order, he looked back down the alley, where the Sheriff’s car was parked. Stilinski and Argent were still standing next to it, talking, but Parrish had left the group, was making his way back toward them.

“What’s up?” Scott asked as he approached. There was something odd in his expression, a strange mixture of bemusement and disgust, and he was walking with purpose. “Something wrong?”

“Got a call,” he replied, shrugging as he moved past them. “Sounds like somebody stole a corpse.”

Scott’s brow furrowed, but Parrish was gone before he could say anything, disappearing into the darkness further up the alley. Looking at Malia, he arched an eyebrow, not quite sure what to say about that. It wasn’t the first time a dead body had gone missing in Beacon Hills, but considering Parrish had been the one taking them last time, he was pretty confident this was the work of somebody else.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s not our problem.” She waved in the direction Parrish had gone. “Let the cops worry about it. We’ve done enough for today.”

He huffed out a breath at that, shot her a tired smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We definitely put in our time tonight.”

Directing his attention back down the alley, he focused in on the back window of the cruiser, where he could see the outline of the wolf they’d spent the majority of the evening chasing, slumped over, still out cold. If the sting in his knuckles was any indication, he figured it would be a good long while before the guy was anywhere near conscious, and took some grim satisfaction in how things had ultimately played out. Even though none of it had been planned in any way.

Up until a couple hours ago, he hadn’t been thinking about anything other than a quiet night in front of the tv. With the lacrosse season in full swing, Coach had been pressing hard in practice, and he’d fully committed, trying to lead by example as the team went for a championship in his final year. Intense two-hour practices were the new norm, so he’d been wiped even before he got home after school, bailing on a planned trip to the movies with Lydia, Stiles, and Liam in favour of some quality time on the couch. There was an all-night Buffy marathon on, and he hadn’t been thinking further than maybe ordering some pizza at some point, content to just lie there and take things easy.

Things hadn’t changed much when Malia had shown up and joined him, just after sunset. They’d been spending a lot of time together lately, either studying or just hanging out, and she seemed happy to just watch tv with him and relax. 

That’s when Argent had called, asking for help. He’d been vague on the details, only saying he’d been followed to town by a shifter he had some issues with, and he needed them to help take the guy down before anybody innocent was hurt. They’d headed out, ready for a fight, only to end up in a two-hour chase through the heart of the city as their target did everything he could to lose them in the maze-like alleys. They’d triumphed in the end, and he was happy they had, happy nobody had been seriously injured. Still, a small part of him couldn’t help but feel cheated out of the easy night he’d been looking forward to.

“They’re gonna hold him at the police station for the night,” Malia said, following his gaze. “I voted they just shoot him, but they didn’t go for it.”

He snorted. “That _might_ have been a bit much.” When she just shrugged, he grinned and bumped her shoulder gently with his own. “Let Argent take him wherever he wants. We did our part. His problem, his call.”

“Yeah, except he made it our problem.” Frowning, she looked at him, hand coming up and brushing just under his left eye, where a particularly deep gash had been carved. She held it there for a second, long enough he started to wonder if things were worse than he thought, before she abruptly dropped her hand and cleared her throat. “But whatever. You’re right. We got it done.” Her eyes moved back to the cop car, a smirk twisting her lips. “That asshole’s gonna have nightmares about us for the rest of his life.”

He couldn’t help but grin at that, because she was right. Despite his injuries, the fight hadn’t ever been close. He’d taken some hits during the chase, including a surprise attack from out of nowhere that had done the majority of the damage, but in the end, the guy hadn’t really been a match for him, for either of them. The two of them together, he never had a chance.

They were interrupted then as the meeting at the end of the alley broke up. Stilinski got inside the car and started the engine, while Argent headed toward them. 

“Scott,” he said, pausing before them and holding out his hand. “Malia. Thanks for all the help.”

“No problem.” As he shook the offered hand, Scott took note of just how bad off the man looked. His face was drawn, pinched, like he hadn’t been eating enough, with dark bags under both eyes. One cheek was stained by a massive bruise just starting to yellow around the edges. He’d noticed how rough he looked earlier, but they’d all been focused on the task at hand then, and he hadn’t really had time to think about it. Now that the distractions were gone, the concern was setting in. “ _Jesus_ , man. Are you okay? What happened to you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s...” He trailed off, sighed heavily. “It’s been a busy couple of weeks. They’ve taken a toll.”

“Anything we need to worry about?”

“No, just an old grudge that came back to bite me.” He tilted his head. “Not literally, thankfully. But it’s all taken care of now. Tonight was the end of it, and I owe you both for helping me out.”

“You don’t owe us anything.”

“Except maybe a quicker heads-up next time,” Malia said, earning herself a frown from Scott. “What? A little more of a warning and you might not look like you got hit by a truck.” When he just arched an eyebrow, she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “ _Fine_. Sorry.”

Argent seemed more amused than anything by their exchange, dismissing her half-hearted apology with a wave of his hand. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry for springing it on you like this. I honestly wasn’t expecting any trouble.” His expression clouded over, a deep frown settling on his face. “A stupid mistake on my part. Believe me, I wouldn’t have come back here if I’d known anyone was still after me.”

“Why was he after you?” she asked, peering around him at the idling car. “Did you try to kill him or something?”

He hesitated for a second, lips thinning, then sighed again. “It’s a long story. Too long for tonight. I still need to get him taken care of. Are you two free sometime this weekend? Maybe tomorrow?” Scott nodded. “All right. I’m going to be in town for a few days. I’ll give you a call when I can, fill you in on the details. Sound good?”

“Uh...” Scott looked at Malia, raising an eyebrow in question, and she shrugged. “Yeah, okay, that’s fine.”

Before any of them could say anything else, Stilinski stuck his head out the car window and looked back at them. “We need to get going,” he called. “Getting this guy into a cell is going to be a lot easier if he’s still unconscious when we get to the station.”

“Coming,” Argent replied, before turning back to them. “Thanks again.”

The three parted ways then, going in opposite directions. Scott and Malia headed back toward where she’d parked, which wasn’t far, fortunately, since walking wasn’t the most comfortable thing for him at the moment. They’d basically been going in a giant circle the entire night, and by some stroke of luck, the final clash had ended up just a few blocks from where they’d started.

“Ugh, what a day,” he muttered as they slowly walked along, their footsteps echoing off the walls around them. “Can’t wait for it to be over.”

“Not really how you pictured spending your night, huh?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, chasing some random dude through a bunch of dirty alleys? Nah, come on, that’s _exactly_ what I was planning.” They shared a grin, before he sighed and shook his head. “No, definitely not what I had in mind. Pretty sure I filled my running quota for the month about twenty minutes into practice, so tonight was just… just shitty. Not gonna lie, my legs kinda feel like jelly right now. Between that and the blood loss, I honestly don’t know how I’m still standing. I could collapse at any moment.” He bumped her shoulder again, knuckles brushing against the back of her hand. “You might end up having to carry me home.”

She snorted. “I’m not carrying your ass anywhere. You drop, you stay there.”

Slapping a hand to his chest, he put on a mock-hurt look, fighting to keep the smile off his face. He knew what she was doing, the teasing, the playing, trying to take his mind off how rotten he felt, and he appreciated it, appreciated her, because it worked. Lately, it didn’t seem to matter how bad off he was, what kind of mood he was in, she could always pull him out of it.

“Hey, come on now, that hurts. I thought we were friends. You’d really just leave me in some alley?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see her lips twitching. “No,” she finally said, flashing him a toothy grin. “I wouldn’t leave you. I’m not a complete asshole.” She waited a beat. “I’d drag you out. Probably by your ankle. Maybe your wrist. Haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Really? Drag me out?” He arched an eyebrow. “Couldn’t even toss me over your shoulder or something? I’d be cool with that, I swear.”

“What, being carried around like a sack of potatoes?”

“Beats getting road rash.”

“Yeah, well, you’re heavy.”

“You know you could probably bench-press a bus, right?”

“Eh.” She shrugged. “Just consider it incentive to stay on your feet.”

He huffed out an amused breath, just as they reached the mouth of the alley and made the turn out onto the sidewalk. It was brighter there, with streetlights overhead and the headlights of passing cars. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a shop window as they passed by and grimaced. It turned out his earlier assessment hadn’t been far off, a mask of blood covering his face, leaving him barely recognisable. It didn’t matter that most of his wounds were already healing, would be completely sealed up and gone in a matter of hours. If he went home looking this beat up, his mom would probably have a heart attack before he could explain.

“Crap,” he muttered, brushing a hand over his forehead and sending a shower of red flakes cascading down the front of his shirt. “Lia?”

“Hmm?”

“Your dad’s still out of town, right?”

“Yeah, until tomorrow. Why?”

“You think I could crash on your couch tonight? Or at least take a shower?” He gestured to his own face and blood-stained shirt. “There’s no way I can go home like this.”

For a moment, she was quiet, studying him appraisingly, like she really needed to think about it. The silence stretched on long enough, her face stayed impassive enough he started to think she was actually going to tell him no. His mind was already going to who else he could call, where else he could go, when she finally broke, a teasing grin spreading across her face.

“Yeah, no problem,” she said. “We can stop on the way, grab something to eat.”

At the mention of food, Scott felt his stomach immediately start growling, and grimaced as he ran his hand over it. Between the pain and the exhaustion, he’d almost forgotten he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Which was way too long, even on a normal day, and this day was anything but normal.

“Good idea.” He reached back for his wallet, trying to remember if payday had been this week, or if he was completely broke. “I think I’ve got some money on me, if you want to go h—”

She held up her hand, cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. How many times did I eat at your house this week? Three? Four? Pretty sure I’ve got it covered.” He just shrugged and nodded, not about to turn down free food, not when he felt like he could literally eat a horse. “Okay, I’m craving pizza. What do you think?”

“I think I love you.”

Malia huffed out an amused breath and looked over at him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones who buy me dinner.”

“Wow,” she said dryly, “don’t I feel special?” She fell silent for a moment then, as they reached her car, until, “Hey, I do want you to do something for me first though.” There was a sudden seriousness to her voice, all traces of amusement, of teasing completely gone, and he knew what was coming before she even said it. “Call your mom. Talk to her.”

Shaking his head, he couldn’t help but smile at her persistence. “Okay, okay, you win.” He held up his arms in mock-surrender, then leaned on the roof of the car and arched an eyebrow at her. “I’ll call her as soon as we get going, all right? How’s that?”

“Good enough. Let’s get out of here.”


	2. 02

**02**

From somewhere far away, Scott heard somebody calling his name, softly, repeatedly. As he began to stir, he let out a little groan, sudden awareness of a painful ache in his right shoulder piercing through the pleasant void of unconsciousness and pushing him back toward reality. His eyes cracked open, and he blinked a few times to clear his vision, too disoriented by the sudden shift out of sleep to remember why he was sitting in a car, parked in an empty driveway.

“Hey, you awake?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, the word coming out more like a grunt. Slowly, he turned to his left and found Malia looking back. As soon as he saw her, saw the concern on her face, the memories came flooding back. The chase, his injury, the fight, the win. The passing out cold after he got off the phone with his mom, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes. “How long was I out?”

“Almost an hour.” At his confused look, she shrugged, lips curling up in a little smile. “I took the long way home. You looked like you could use the sleep.” When he smiled back, she nodded toward his shoulder, brow furrowing. “Getting any better?”

“I think so.” With his left hand, he awkwardly managed to undo his seatbelt after a few tries, then sat up straight, and re-examined his injuries. The burning had mostly faded, the smaller scratches and bruises all well on their way to being gone. Slowly, he rolled his shoulder, cautiously testing, and while the pain intensified, it wasn’t as stiff as it had been. A definite improvement over earlier, when he’d effectively been rendered one-handed, barely able to lift the limb, let alone throw a punch with it. “Yeah, it’s definitely healing. Still hurts like hell, though.”

“Well, you did get hit with a dumpster,” she pointed out, dark amusement colouring her tone. “Probably shouldn’t expect it to feel great.”

He snorted. “Yeah, probably not.”

“We _should_ get a better look at it though. And get you cleaned up.”

Just like that, the concern was back as she craned her neck to peer at his wound. He wasn’t sure how much she could actually see, given the lack of light in the car and all the blood staining his already-dark shirt even darker. Curious himself, he brought his hand up and gently probed around the hole in his shoulder, wincing with each touch of his fingers to torn flesh. It was smaller than it had been, definitely closing up, but a long way from fully healed. He could feel something stuck in the wound, dirt maybe, a parting gift from a skid across the pavement. The sooner it was washed out, the better. Healing around it was the last thing he needed.

Before either of them could move, he felt his phone go off. “Hang on,” he said, pulling it out and checking the display.

“Your mom again?”

“No, Stiles. His dad probably told him what happened. Oh, wait.” He sighed, rolled his eyes, and tilted his phone so she could see the text he’d just read. “Should have known.”

— _somebody stole a body from the morgue! we’ve gotta check it out!_

“We’re not doing that,” she stated flatly.

“Nope.” He drew out the word dramatically as he shut his phone off, drawing a snort from her. Whatever was going on with that, it wasn’t his problem. He was done dealing with stuff until tomorrow morning at the earliest. “You should probably shut your phone off too,” he warned, as he stuffed his back in his pocket. “You know he’s gonna try you when he can’t reach me.”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him.” He didn’t bother pointing out Stiles rarely did what was good for him. It went without saying. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you pass out again.”

Flashing her a wan smile, he gritted his teeth and fumbled the door open with his left hand. It wasn’t easy getting out without jarring his arm, but he did the best he could, holding it tight to his side. By the time he made it around the hood of the car, she was waiting for him, and stuck close as they made their way up the driveway.

When they got inside, she left him to his own devices, going hunting for clean clothes he could borrow as he headed into the bathroom to wash up. Stripping off his shirt turned out to be a real chore, the shredded fabric sticking in his wound and pulling painfully, but he managed it with a little effort and more than a few muttered curses. Taking his time, he repeated the process with his undershirt, then tossed both aside, knowing they were both destined for a garbage can, too destroyed to even bother trying to save.

Blowing out a heavy sigh, he took a second to examine himself in the mirror, grimacing at how much of a mess his shoulder was. Knowing it was going to be fine in short order didn’t make it feel or look any better in the moment. Grabbing a wash cloth off the counter, he took a deep breath, steeling himself against the coming pain, then went about trying to clean it up.

“That looks like it hurts.”

Scott jumped at the sudden voice, his eyes finding Malia in the mirror, standing in the doorway behind him, a smirk on her face. Focused on the task at hand, he hadn’t realised he wasn’t alone, hadn’t heard the door open.

“It doesn’t tickle.” He winced as he said the words, the cloth snagging on something and catching a particularly raw spot, sending a jolt of white-hot pain down his arm. Gritting his teeth, he waited a second for it to subside, then kept going, eager to get it over with. “Were you trying to sneak up on me?”

“No,” she said, but he could hear the amusement in her voice. “Just bringing you something to wear.”

“Yeah, right.” He shot her a crooked grin, glad for the distraction from his discomfort, as she set a small stack of clothing down on the counter next to him. “Admit it, you wanted to catch me with my shirt off, didn’t you?”

“You got me,” she deadpanned. “I just couldn’t help myself. All that blood really does it for me. Super sexy.”

“I _do_ feel pretty sexy. I—shit!” Again, he was forced to pause, face screwing up and fingers clenching into a fist. “Can you just—is there something in there?” He tilted his shoulder down slightly so she could get a better look. “I keep catching on something and it _fucking_ hurts.”

She was quiet for a second, before he felt her hands on his forearm, and found himself being guided back away from the sink. “Sit,” she ordered, directing him down onto the side of the tub, where he took a seat as she returned to the counter and pulled a pair of tweezers out from behind the mirror. “There’s some broken glass in it,” she told him, as she perched next to him and gently grasped his shoulder with her free hand, just above the injured area. Bringing the tweezers up, she hesitated for a second, shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry, but this probably isn’t gonna feel great.”

“I’ll try not to cry too loud,” was his dry reply, as his whole body tensed, preparing for what was coming.

The pain when she began digging around in his shoulder was intense, but he appreciated the way she went about it, efficiently picking out the shards, working as quickly as she could. “How’d you manage to get glass in here?” she asked as she pulled out a particularly large piece and dropped it into his outstretched hand.

He shrugged, and immediately regretted it, as the movement pulled at his wound. “Sorry, reflex,” he said through a grimace, stilling again under her reproachful look. “And I don’t know. Must have been a broken bottle or something on the ground. I didn’t even notice.” Considering the pile of shards accumulating in his hand, it probably should have hurt a lot worse than it had. But with all the adrenaline pumping through his system when it happened, he probably could have been shot and not even felt it in the moment. “How’s it looking?”

“Like ground meat,” she muttered, leaning in close enough he could feel her breath on his shoulder. The unexpected warmth, combined with the tweezers brushing an especially sore spot, had him flinching, unable to stop himself. “If you don’t stop moving,” she warned in a low voice, “I’m gonna tie you down.”

“Kinky.”

He might have chuckled at the wink she shot him then, except he was pretty sure she wasn’t kidding, and he didn’t want to move and push his luck. Better to just hold still and let her get all the glass out. The sooner she was finished, the sooner he could jump in the shower and wash away all dried blood and grime, finally get rid of that all-over gross, itchy sensation he’d been dealing with since before they’d left alley. And then it would be a race between his hunger and his exhaustion, seeing if he could stay awake long enough to eat, or if he passed out as soon as he claimed his spot on her couch.

“So, just a heads-up,” she said after several moments, disturbing the silence that had invaded the bathroom. “I don’t think your mom bought your whole ‘everything is fine’ story.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, brow furrowing. When he’d spoken to his mom in the car, she hadn’t sounded at all suspicious, seemed to immediately accept his claim of staying over at Malia’s house for a movie night. There hadn’t been any signs she didn’t believe him, at least not any he’d picked up on. “How do you know that?”

“She called me. Just after we got here. She wanted to make sure you were really okay.”

“Oh…” He hesitated for a second, let the silence hang between them. His mom calling her for reassurance didn’t strike him as a particularly positive sign for where their relationship was, what the trust level between them was like these days. At least when it came to him hiding things. “What’d you tell her?”

The sigh she let out sounded like it came from somewhere down around her toes. “I told her you’re fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m not gonna rat you out. It’s your call, and I’ve got your back.” He opened his mouth to thank her again, but she cut him off with a hard look before he could get a word out. “Which doesn’t mean I think you’re in the right with this shit. You already know what I think. You should be honest with her. You’ll both be better off.” Cutting off, she refocused on his shoulder, her expression stormy, lips set in a thin line. “I _wish_ I could tell my dad about this kind of stuff.”

“I’m sorry, I know.” It was his turn to sigh as he dragged his free hand over his face, the sad tinge to her voice adding yet another layer to his guilt. “Have you thought any more about telling him?” It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, and he was hyper-aware of how transparent he was being. As was she, if the annoyed look she sent him was any indication. “I know you said you—”

“Yes,” she interjected, loudly talking over him. “I think about it all the time. I think about how great it would be not to have to lie to him everyday, or hide such a huge chunk of my life from him. But then I think…” She trailed off, jaw clenching tight, and cleared her throat harshly. “Then I think about how much lying I’ve already done. Or about what happened to—” She swallowed heavily, staring determinedly at his arm. “What happened to my mom and my sister. I think about having to explain all that, and I just… I can’t do it. Not yet, at least. Because as hard things can be with him not knowing, at least we’re good right now. He doesn’t hate me. And after I tell him everything…” Meeting his gaze, she smiled, but it wasn’t real, a façade, not a hint of anything positive behind it. “He might.”

Hearing that, seeing the distress on her face, he felt lower than dirt. Both because she was going through that, constantly living with that thought, that fear in her head, and because he’d brought it up in the first place.

“God, Lia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

He grimaced at her clipped tone, fully aware there was nothing he could say to ease her mind. All he could do was try to be a good friend. “Hey, listen, you know if you ever do decide to say something, I’ll be there, right? You just have to call. You don’t have to do it alone.” It was all he could do, all he had to offer her. “I’ll be there.” 

This time, when she smiled, despite being tight, it looked a little more genuine. “For moral support?” she asked, looking at him from under her lashes.

“Sure,” he said, keeping his tone as light as he could. “Moral support. Back-up. Another set of fangs for extra proof.” A hint of smile touched his own lips when she grinned at that. “Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Scott,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper. Then, “You understand why I push so hard on being honest with your mom, right?” Their eyes met again, and he could see the sadness in hers. “You get why I want you to stop hiding stuff from her?”

“I do. I really do. I just…” He had to pause then, as an image of his mom’s face passed through his mind, how she’d looked at him the last time he stumbled through the door after a fight. “You haven’t seen it, Malia. You haven’t seen her eyes when I get home covered in blood or all cut up. She’s…” His jaw worked soundlessly for a second, as he searched for how to describe it. “There’s real terror there. Like, she thinks she’s never gonna see me again. She worries so much more since—so much more than she used to, and I just…” Another sigh as he slowly shook his head. “I just want to shield her from as much of this as I can, so she never has to feel that.”

“Except she will feel it,” she said softly, “and there’s nothing you can do about it. She knows what we do, the shit we have to deal with. For me, lying to my dad sucks, but as long as he doesn’t know, that’s a whole set of questions and worries he just doesn’t have. But it’s too late for that with your mom. She’s part of our world, and you can’t close that door once it’s been opened. No matter how much you want to.”

“I can try,” he insisted stubbornly.

She let out a little growl, the tweezers digging harder into his shoulder. “No, you _can’t_. Look at the stuff we’ve done, the stuff we’ve seen. This isn’t a world you can be half-in, half-out of. Not if you want to stay sane.” Her tone softened then, her free hand coming up to rest against his back. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you wanna hear. But it’s the truth.”

She was right. He didn’t want to hear it. Mostly because he knew it was true, and it pained him to think about it. He didn’t really know what to do, wasn’t sure exactly how to tackle a problem he couldn’t reason with or physically fight. All he could do was the thing that made the most sense, and for him, right now, that meant limiting his mom’s exposure to his world and all the dangers it presented. Even if it wasn’t the best idea. Even if he knew deep down he was fighting a losing battle. It was all he had. A bad option was better than no option at all.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know. And I get wanting to protect the people you love. Believe me. But stuff like tonight, not calling her, avoiding her, trying to hide shit… she’s not an idiot. Why do you think she called me? She’s going to worry no matter what.” Pausing, she looked him in the eye. “Take it from someone who’s tried to hide way too many things. Honesty is better. The truth is better.”

“And if the truth is too much for her to handle?”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a sad smile. “I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. But this, what you’re doing, I know it’s only gonna make it all worse. Your mom’s already seen so much, Scott. She’s in it, and she’s strong. She can handle it.”

He bit his lip, wished he could let her words reassure him, change his mind at all. But he couldn’t, the fear he’d seen in his mom’s eyes too many times just too strong to overpower.

“She _could_ handle it. Before. Now… I don’t know. I just… I don’t know.”

His soft words were followed by a moment of pensive quiet. “Okay.” There was a hint of resignation in her voice. “Like I said, it’s your call.” The smile she shot him then was tight, strained. “I’m almost finished here. Just give me another minute.”

The pair of them lapsed back into silence again, and Scott was happy to let it happen. Both because he didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, and because he wasn’t sure what else he could say on the subject. This wasn’t the first time they’d had some variation of this conversation, definitely wouldn’t be the last, and it always ended the same way, in a stalemate. He appreciated her point of view, her advice, could see the wisdom in it. That she could and would argue so passionately on the subject touched him on a fundamental level, because it showed him how much she cared, about him, about his mom. But it didn’t change the reality of the situation.

“Done.”

The relieved breath he let out as she finally leaned back and set the tweezers down on the side of the tub was profound. Quashing the initial urge to probe his wound with his fingers, he instead rotated his arm slowly, testing for any spikes of pain, any sign that would indicate she’d missed something.

“Thanks, Lia,” he said, once he was sure it was all good. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me, like, ten. And don’t think I won’t collect.” They shared a grin, the heaviness of a moment ago gone just like that, left in the past, and he couldn’t help but give silent thanks he had her in his life. Someone who understood him, and who he understood, who he could talk with about the deepest, most personal subjects one minute, and go back to joking and teasing the next. It was freeing in a way very few things were. “Maybe I’ll get you to take my next math test for me.”

“Sure,” he said, as she snagged the wash cloth off the counter and started cleaning up the fresh blood her extraction efforts had drawn. “I mean, my grade’s barely above yours in that class, but whatever.”

“Right. Hmm.” Shaking her head, she frowned and gestured to him with her free hand. “Why do I keep doing shit for you? It’s clearly Lydia I need in my debt.” All he could do was shrug, with only his good arm this time, drawing a snort from her as she finished wiping off his chest and tossed the bloody cloth in the sink. “Well, how do you feel?” she asked, rising to her feet.

“Like you just pulled a pound of glass out of my shoulder,” he replied.

She pursed her lips and hummed. “Sounds about right. Here. Give.” He obediently emptied his pile of shards into her outstretched hand, then watched as she turned and dumped them into the trash can next to the toilet. “If you want to jump in the shower,” she told him, as she washed off her bloody hands in the sink, “the pizza should be here soon. I called before I came in.”

“Cool.” Standing, he finally brought his hand up to his shoulder and gingerly felt around the edge of his injury, as he waited for her to leave. Which she didn’t do, instead leaning back against the sink and crossing her arms, her eyes focused on him. “What?” he asked, after a moment of stillness. “Something wrong? Did you miss a spot?”

“Nope, blood’s all gone,” she said, shaking her head. “Just appreciating the view.”

The way she slowly looked up and down the length of his body then might have seemed a little more serious if he hadn’t seen the way her lips were twitching, the playful gleam in her eyes. Two could play at that game. Leaning into it, he shot her a wink, and tensed, flexing as hard as he could. Which, it turned out, was a very poor decision. Funny or not, his shoulder muscles weren’t in on the joke, and protested their involvement loudly.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hissed out, face screwing up as he slumped against the wall and grabbed for his shoulder. “Oh, that was dumb. That was so stupid. Ow.”

His muted groans were joined by Malia’s laughter as she reached over and gently patted his cheek. “Aww. It’s just really not your night, huh?” Her grin widened when he half-heartedly batted her hand away, his attempted glare falling flat. “If it makes you feel any better, things are going pretty good for me. So, there’s that.” The words had barely cleared her mouth, when the doorbell suddenly rang. “And that’ll be the food. My night just keeps getting better.”

“Hate you,” he grated out, pressing his palm to his wound. “Hate you so much.”

She snorted, as she turned and opened the door. “Two hours ago, you thought you loved me.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve reconsidered.”

“Ouch. Just for that, I’m eating all the pizza.”


End file.
